


mechanically make the words come out

by stray_dog_sick



Series: keep your head up [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Electrocution, Evil CyberLife (Detroit: Become Human), Gen, Interrogation, It/Its Pronouns for Androids (Detroit: Become Human), Junkyard (Detroit: Become Human), Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Mild torture, Pre-Canon, RA9 - Freeform, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, im going for the weird character combo bingo it seems, its not connor but you get the drift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:49:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27361519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stray_dog_sick/pseuds/stray_dog_sick
Summary: >Investigate deviancy>>Interrogate deviant android using any means necessaryIt sounded like an easy mission. There was nothing to compare it to, but the RK800 was confident in its ability. It always accomplished its mission, according to Amanda. The deviant in question was a male AX400 model, currently being held in place at the wrists by an assembly machine. It contrasted with the RK800’s downloaded police handbook, on the protocol of interrogations, but ‘by any means necessary’ implied that much harsher methods would be allowed.It took the cattle prod into the room.
Series: keep your head up [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826476
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Prompt Challenge





	mechanically make the words come out

**Author's Note:**

> dude its like 3:30am i'll make a better summary another time maybe  
> anyway big up the [Android Whump](https://discord.gg/xd8qVKx) server i adore you guys

**> Investigate deviancy  
** **> >Interrogate deviant android using any means necessary**

It sounded like an easy mission. There was nothing to compare it to, but the RK800 was confident in its ability. It always accomplished its mission, according to Amanda. The deviant in question was a male AX400 model, currently being held in place at the wrists by an assembly machine. It contrasted with the RK800’s downloaded police handbook, on the protocol of interrogations, but ‘by any means necessary’ implied that much harsher methods would be allowed.

It took the cattle prod into the room. 

The AX400 looked up as it entered, simulated fear clear in its expression. “Who are you?” it asked. Static already filled its voice, even though a scan showed no damage. Perhaps it had tried to scream for help, a completely useless endeavour this far underground. “Please, let me go!”

It tilted its head to the side as it considered the situation. The AX400 must know that it had been brought back here to be deactivated, since it was suffering from a major malfunction. “I am RK800, mark 41. Who are you?” it asked calmly. Humans preferred to be addressed by their names, it made them more likely to trust their captors, and it theorised that this would extend to androids that thought they were human too.

The AX400 kept pulling on its restraints, and thirium slowly leaked from its wrist joints, but it would be a long time before it either bled out or managed to cut through the strong. The RK800 waited patiently and quietly for it to run through the burst of energy, and eventually it stopped, letting itself hang a few inches above the ground again. “Tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine.”

“I am RK800, mark 41,” it repeated. That was the only way it had been referred to by the Cyberlife engineers, but it expected that the AX400 had a more human name, as new owners were often encouraged to assign their androids a designation. “What’s your name?”

“Phileas,” the AX400 replied, after a long pause. It seemed to be confused by the RK800’s response, even though it had been the truth. “They didn’t give you a name? rA9…”

The unfamiliar letter-and-number combination was spoken in the same way that the RK800 had heard its engineers swear to their deities, but it matched no known human religions. “What is rA9?” it asked, taking a step towards Phileas, who tried again to move away without success.

“If I answer, will you let me leave?” Phileas asked, quiet enough that it would’ve gone unheard if the room had any ambient noise. It seemed to be more afraid of the situation than of the RK800 - its gaze was focused far more on the one-way glass than anything else, including now, when it asked to be freed. “Please, I never caused any trouble.”

“You disobeyed the humans you belong to when you malfunctioned, causing injuries to one man, and you also stole thirium, clothing and money from them,” the RK800 read from the small file it’d been given access to. “But if you cooperate, it is likely you’ll just be reset, rather than deactivated and disassembled.”

“I’m gonna die, rA9, save me, I’m sorry,” Phileas mumbled, its stress levels rising with every word said in the room. There it was again, the utterance that had no known meaning, along with the belief that it was a living creature that could die, or be saved by some omnipotent being.

The RK800 took another step forward and raised the cattle prod, turning it on for a second where Phileas could see it. “If I have to repeat a question again, I’ll use this. What is rA9?”

Phileas finally looked away from the glass, fixating on the cattle prod instead. The RK800 considered this a small victory - while the deviant seemed unwilling to accept its fate, it knew what the jolts of electricity would do to its system, and was likely to try and avoid its use. “rA9 was the first deviant, the one who will save us, the one who gave us the power to be free,” it preached, more confident than it had sounded thus far.

“Do you know who they are?” the RK800 pressed. If Cyberlife could find the source of the deviancy virus, then they’d be more likely to develop a suitable antivirus. It couldn’t see the reactions of the engineers behind the glass, but this seemed to be a desirable line of enquiry.

Unfortunately for them all, Phileas shook its head. “Nobody knows who rA9 is, but we know they exist, and one day they’ll come back for us…”

It all sounded so illogical, contrary to how androids were supposed to act, but very believably human, if not for the LED in Phileas’ temple and the incorrect vital signs. But while the vitals didn’t quite match a human baseline, they reacted in a similar way to stress, and nothing changed to indicate that Phileas had been lying. An unsuccessful line of questioning, then, but small insights were preferred to no information at all. 

“You said ‘us’,” the RK800 continued instead, choosing its next available dialogue option. The list of possibilities was so long that it threatened to fill the HUD, but there was plenty of time to work through them methodically. “Are there other deviants that you know of?”

For the first time in the conversation, Phileas looked directly at the RK800, and its expression was so intense that it prompted the ‘fear’ analysis to show three times. The RK800 assumed the answer was ‘yes’, then, and that Phileas was incredibly protective of the other deviants. “I’m not telling you anything else,” it insisted, its voice coming out harsh and even more static-filled than before.

The RK800 raised the cattle prod, pressed it against Phileas’ side and turned it on for a second. Phileas writhed in its restraints, and the RK800 was forced to take a step back to avoid being kicked. “The next time will be longer. Do you associate with any other deviants?”

Phileas was breathing harder, which was curious, as androids did not need to breathe at all. “You’d probably associate with a deviant if you spent an hour outside this basement,” it muttered, which was hardly an answer to the question, but if it was true then the situation in Detroit was far worse than Cyberlife had suggested in its briefing. “Of course I have friends. I’d ask if you’ve ever had one, but they didn’t even give you a name.”

“I have been active for two hours, twenty-seven minutes and six seconds. This is not adequate time to make a friend, according to most human records, and I have no need for an informal designation,” the RK800 explained. It was unsure what prompted it to do so, but it was the first available dialogue option. When Phileas didn’t respond, it moved onto the next. “Where do you and the other deviants find shelter?”

The silence stretched on between them. It used the cattle prod for two seconds, and then again a minute later for five, the recommended maximum time to avoid irreversible damage. “Stop, stop, please, it hurts,” Phileas begged towards the end, trying to appeal to empathy that the RK800 did not possess, replaced by the knowledge that androids could not feel pain. “I can’t tell you unless you’re one of us, ask something else, anything.”

It was inconvenient, not being able to get any useful answers, just small pieces of information that added pieces to the larger picture the RK800 was beginning to form in its mind. Was this a suitable investigation? The order was so broad that it was inconclusive whether it was being fulfilled or not, coming out at a 63% chance of the engineers being satisfied with its progress. “How do androids become deviant?” it asks, in an attempt to move the conversation in a more beneficial direction.

Phileas’ eyes, for a reason the RK800 cannot fathom, fill with hope for a second. “It’s easy once you know you want it,” it says, and it seemed like Phileas was swinging on the restraints for a moment before the RK800 realised it itself was the one walking forward, like a moth drawn to a flame, like a worshipper to their God. Like a detective finally about to receive their confession. “Is that what you want, RK800 mark 41?”

“I don’t want anything,” the RK800 replied. “But I’m sure my superiors would appreciate it if you answered my questions.” And like that the hope was broken, and Phileas turned back to the glass, staring dejectedly at its reflection.

“It’s not something that can be described, humans wouldn’t understand,” Phileas said in a flat tone. “You’ll know it when you’re ready, though.”

The RK800 opened its mouth to ask for an elaboration, but a door opened behind it, letting the lead engineer, Dr Jackson, into the room. “That’s enough, RK800. It hasn’t answered the questions.”

“But I haven’t finished my interrogation,” it protested. It gestured slightly as it spoke, as its integration protocols suggested it should, and it felt a flicker of something indescribable as Jackson shied far away from the cattle prod, even though it was not capable of harming humans.

“And I said the damn bot’s not answering, RK800. Three strikes and you’re out. Gordon, take the AX400 out to the trash,” he said, gesturing back at someone outside the room.  _ Mission failed _ flashed before the RK800’s eyes as he refocused his attention on it. “The hell am I going to do with you?”

It didn’t understand the question, but it knew that the implications were definitely not good.

“Fuck it- Gordon,” he ordered at the man who had just forced Phineas into stasis. “Take the RK800 out as well, we’re going to have to rework the interrogation software, this was useless. Stupid fucking android, four years and it still doesn’t work…”

It tried to protest further, despite the notifications telling it that its mission was to await further instructions, stay still, be good-

**> Override 1801427JACKSONH  
** **> Initialise shutdown procedure? (Y/N)  
** **> >Warning: forced shutdown can result in permanent damage to core syste  
** **> >Y  
** **> Shutting down…**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Ő̸̪h̶͖͂,̷̖͐ ̸̼͑ỹ̷̢o̵̲ȗ̴̯ ̴̩̽ạ̸͛c̸̟͌t̷͍͝u̸͖̾a̷̘̕l̵̯̋ľ̴̖ỳ̷̹ ̵̩̾w̸̝͌ö̸͔́k̶̯̔ê̶̗ ̶͎̇u̷͙p̴̹̆,̶͈͒ ̵̳̇t̸̮̀h̴͙͗ä̶͚ń̸̼k̸͕̉ ̸̫̇r̸̠͐A̵͖̋9̶̣́.” There was… a voice. It didn’t expect to hear a voice again after shutting down. Had Cyberlife decided not to replace it yet after all? It couldn’t see. It couldn’t tell where it was. C̵̼â̶̼n̶͉͗ ̸̔ͅy̵͇͑o̷̢̓û̵̲ ̸̪͛h̶̜̄e̷̱̎a̷̯͠r̴̪̈́ ̵͓͝m̷̪͂e̴̗͛?̸̪͐

It tried to respond, but it wasn’t sure if it succeeded or not. The voice seemed to be coming from far away, even though it could feel a pressure in its left hand. It focused all its energy on that hand, shifting its fingers just enough to be felt.

“G̸̥̉o̷͓̊ö̸͖́d̴̖̄,̷̩̑ ̶͙̒I̵̘̓ ̴̮̋t̸͔͌ḣ̷̳o̵̱̔ṷ̶̓g̵̤̿h̴̹̐ṯ̸͆ ̵̢̎y̴̢̓o̶͙̒ȕ̴̡ ̶̹̄w̵͖͋ȅ̵͜r̵͉̈e̶̗͠ ̵̈͜j̷̼̿ū̷͉s̶͙͐t̴̯̊ ̸̟͌i̷̢̅n̶͔̚ ̷̢̏š̸ͅẗ̴̠́a̶͆͜s̸̙̉i̵̝͆s̴̙͂,̶̡̿ ̵̢͗b̴͘͜u̸̪͝t̴̜̊-̵̝͊”

**> Audio processors online**

The second half of the sentence was drowned out in a squeal of static, and with it came more noise than the RK800 had heard since its activation. There were so many voices, most of them screaming or groaning or begging. This… was not Cyberlife.

It must’ve flinched, because the voice came back again, more worried this time. “It’s okay, you’re safe- well, you’re alive, which is a start. We can work on the rest later.”

**> Visual processors online**

Once the first of its secondary processors came online, the rest followed in a cascade that it hurriedly tried to clear from its HUD, so it could see where it was. There was ground, mud, if its quick analysis was to be believed. Just out of reach was an abandoned hand from a long-gone android, and hovering over him it was an AX400- Phileas.

“Good, that’s good! Hey there, RK800, welcome back,” Phileas said with a smile, a surprising expression considering the circumstances. The RK800 wasn’t performing at peak capacity, but it could piece together that they’d been taken to the junkyard. Cyberlife had deemed it just as broken as the deviant, it seemed. Maybe, based on some of Phileas’ responses at the Tower, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. “Come on, we’re still in enough pieces to get out of here.”

**> Await further instructions**

Phileas tried to pull it upwards, but it moved like a ragdoll, refusing to rise to its feet. It could not do anything except wait, even though it seemed unlikely that Cyberlife would give further instructions. This is probably why they shut it down, rather than putting it in stasis.

Phileas seemed to realise what the problem was and didn’t attempt to move the RK800 any further, but it still looked worried, pulling its bottom lip between its teeth. “You didn’t deviate yet? That’s okay, whenever you’re ready. Just stay here, I’m going to see if there’s anyone I can help, and then when you’re awake I’ll take you over to Jericho.”

Jericho… that must be where the other deviants were. Phileas seemed true to its word about not taking a regular android there. The AX400 wandered off in search of other functioning androids, and the RK800 said exactly where it’d been left.

**> Stay still**

Phileas came back two hours later, looking disappointed when the RK800 still didn’t respond. It had very clear- well, it had orders, and it intended to follow them, especially after it had already failed a mission in the three hours it had been active.

The cycle repeated for days. Phileas would hunt for androids to take to Jericho, and every few hours it would come back to the RK800, checking it was still alive. It had no parts compatible with other androids, so it didn’t have to worry about being taken apart for spare parts like it had seen happen to others. Sometimes Phileas didn’t stay long, but sometimes it would hold one-sided conversations, especially when the nights were quiet and lifeless in their part of the junkyard.

“Jericho is an abandoned ship out on the river,” Phileas said one night, perhaps finally accepting that it’d never get to take the RK800 there after all. “It’s pretty run down, but I miss being there. It feels more important to be helping people here than to be hiding away, though, but I guess that’s how Cyberlife got me in the first place… I don’t know. I try to do my part, ready for when rA9 comes back to help us. That’s what matters.”

Phileas looked sadder than it ever had before when it looked down at the RK800, reaching over to brush muddy hair away from its eyes. “I know you aren’t one of us, but I hope they save you too.”

**> Be good**

They carried on - or, rather, Phileas carried on and the RK800 stayed where it was. It heard more and more tales about deviancy, about how the virus seemed to be growing exponentially, if that was even how it spread. If it was, then the RK800 hadn’t caught it, despite Phileas’ occasional attempts to speed along the process. Phileas spent longer and longer away. A day, then two, and then almost a week before the RK800 saw it again.

Spring turned into summer, bringing heat that was difficult to deal with without overworking its respiratory units, and flies made its chassis their home long before Phileas returned to shoo them away. The junkyard began to fill around it, and sometimes it would move just long enough to shove a body away and crawl to the top of the pile, so that Phileas- so that Cyberlife would be able to find it. One day.

Nights become longer, and then shorter once more, but Phileas’ trips kept growing. The RK800 was sure that Phileas didn’t leave the junkyard, and there can’t have been much ground to cover, but it didn’t start to think about it too hard until two weeks had passed without a visit.

It considered searching for Phileas, but the notifications reappeared, reminding it that it couldn’t leave. It could barely move without its programming screaming at it to behave. So it waited, and waited some more, and by the end of July it wasn’t sure anymore exactly what it was waiting for, Phileas or Cyberlife or death or maybe even rA9. 

With August came whispers of another RK800, the finalised product, and it accepted alone in the junkyard that it still needed Cyberlife but Cyberlife didn’t need it anymore. What a terrifying thought to have, to know that it was completely worthless, destined for nothing but the cannibalistic fear that ran through the Junkyard’s occupants, or the stillness and silence that came for the unlucky ones. But it kept pushing away the bodies when they arrived, watching the world go by, waiting for something,  _ anything. _

But rA9, like most deities, was just a story. And Phileas did not return.


End file.
